Bittersweet
by Hayashi Mikako
Summary: —Memories come and go, drifting, surrounding us as we go through our daily life. Memories can be provoked by nearly anything, and most times, they are the sweet, happy, fluffy kind... Yet some memories are dark like a nightmare.— Memories that they had, sweet ones and bitter ones... Because even the sugariest candies can have an unwanted aftertaste. /NiChu, four-shot/
1. 一・日本

**Alright. Don't judge me. I know it's ****_terrible _****for me to dive headfirst into a new fanfic when I have like five more I still need to update... I couldn't help it. Really. Please.**

**I'm going to limit it to five bullets per chapter.**

**[1] There will be some NiChu fluff. Fluff is something I can not write to save my life. Please, I'm sorry.  
[2] There will be angst. I'm good at angst, so.  
[3] This will be a four-shot following a specific format, so this will be updated.  
[4] Actually, it might not if not a lot of people read it. I don't know—I'll decide later.  
[5] Well then, enjoy! Remember to leave a review if you've got any comments, and even if you haven't.**

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**[****_Ichi. Nihon._****] 一・日本 **

The sky was so blue today.

It was autumn, and it was beautiful, like an oil-on-canvas painting, dotted with flames of fire. It was one of those days with tanzanite-blue skies and fluffy clouds, one of those days where it felt like nothing could ever go wrong.

The sun rose slowly.

Shouts of laughter were heard in the background. There was a loud crunch of a crinkly leaf as it was trod on. The wind blew a gingko off its branch, silhouetting it against the azure sky.

.

Quiet footsteps echoed through the nearly-silent street.

One figure, one lone figure, stood soundless, half-hidden by the shadows.

If he tried, he could still hear them laughing.

He looked at the sky.

Still blue.

Still bright.

Still clear.

Still mocking him as if it were just another day—_just another day._

.

Taiwan had offered him a honey candy this morning.

Japan had never enjoyed the taste of candy as much as she had, but he took it out of politeness. He recognized it as the kind that China had given him, years ago, and that he'd never had since.

After Taiwan left, he considered throwing it away.

Why would he want it, anyway? He had better ones now.

It called to him, though. So, standing in the narrow alleyway between two buildings, he tore apart the cellophane wrapper and placed it carefully in his mouth.

From the moment it touched his tongue, there is a sudden burst of _flavor_—

A spicy, zesty flavor...

A sour flavor, that vanished almost immediately...

A warm, comforting, homey flavor...

.

And then sweet.

.

_Sweet_

_adj. _**1 **_having the pleasant taste characteristic of sugar or honey; not salty, sour, or bitter_

**2 **_Pleasing in general, delightful; highly satisfying or gratifying_

.

Sweet.

Because those days _were _sweet.

Sweet, like the honey candies that China gave him. Sweet, like the nectar of the blossoms Taiwan wore in her hair. Sweet, like the desserts South Korea would shower them all with. Sweet, like the smile that China wore, as he tucked him into bed, after everyone else...

He rolls his tongue over the smooth surface of the spherical candy.

Sweet.

.

**《一・日本》****One. ****_Sweet._**

"Chuu-nii, what does 'love' mean?"

"Eh?"

"I heard Formosa-chan talking about it earlier... What does it mean to love someone very much?"

The older man laughed and looked down. "Well," he began, "it's pretty hard to explain. Basically, it means you like someone a lot, but more than that... it's like you would do anything for them, and you wouldn't be able to stand it if they weren't in your life anymore."

There was a pause before the young nation looked up, a childish look of concern on his face. "Do you love me, Chuu-nii?"

"Of course."

"Very much?" China almost laughed at Japan's need to make sure.

"Yes," he told him. "I love you very, very much."

.

**《一・日本》****Two. ****_Sweet._**

"You know, you're a very good artist, _Ri-ben_."

The child at the table leapt up, promptly knocking over a bottle of ink. "_Aa_! _Sumimasen_!" he gasped. The large grin on his face that had appeared at the compliment now vanished.

"It's no problem," China replied, hastily rushing to pick it up before the toddler could make it worse. With another look at the boy's ashamed face, he sighed and tried to brighten the mood. "That's a very pretty picture. Did you draw it yourself?"

The younger nation's frown vanished. "Yes, I did! Do you like it?"

China smiled warmly. "You're very talented."

Japan positively beamed.

.

**《一・日本》****Three. ****_Sweet._**

"What are you doing, Chuu-nii?"

China paused. "Tai Chi," he replied.

"What's that?" Japan asked childishly.

"Tai Chi is a way to exercise in the morning, so that when you grow up you don't become old and clumsy like me."

There was a pause. China regarded his young charge carefully as Japan stared up at him, eyes wide.

"I think you're very graceful, Chuu-nii. And very pretty," he added as an afterthought.

China opened his mouth, not sure what to say, but the Japanese boy cut him off. "I like your hair very much, too. What kind of shampoo do you use?"

China sighed.

.

**《一・日本》****Four. ****_Sweet._**

"Chuu-nii... are you immortal?"

"Huh? Why do you ask?"

"Um... because people go somewhere else when they are old, right? But you are still here..."

"I..," he began, but the words vanished. "It's... hard to explain. But why are you so worried?"

"I don't want you to leave, Chuu-nii."

"Hey—are you crying?" China moved forward to wipe the child's tear away. "Look, it's okay. I promise that for as long as you need me, I'll be here."

_I promise I won't forget the tie that links us._

.

**《一・日本》****Five. ****_Bitter._**

To think that he would be the one to break this bond.

His hand was gripped tightly behind his back, his knuckles as white as his pale face. It was all so familiar, every bit of China's house reminded him of something from those days—the vase that Korea had once smashed was now held together with glue so perfectly applied that it seemed to be in one piece. The back part of the alcove was stacked with fireworks, from when Hong Kong had stashed them there. The garden was still live with chrysanthemums; his namesake.

_Memories._

Sweet ones, those were, yet here he was ready to shatter it all.

"What are you doing here, _Ri-ben_? It's almost twelve."

He jumped and he whirled around, instantly unsheathing his katana and pointing it to the other man's throat, but China did not move. He did not retaliate. Japan seethed. How _dare _he look so calm?

And... was that _pity _he saw in those eyes? What did China think, that he was still some foolish little kid? "I'm not your little brother anymore!" he snapped. "This is _war_! This is _war _and so all past bonds are _broken_!" _Because I'm Nihon-koku and I'm strong and I won't be dragged back by a love that I had for you decades ago! This is every-man-for-himself and I'm ready to do whatever it takes and everything that we had ever shared between us... _"Every love that I have ever felt for you, everything you think I once had, is _gone_!"

For a moment something flashed behind those sepia eyes—hurt, anger—but he ignored it and he drew back, and he wondered why, why was he doing this but he couldn't stop, his mind was on _fire_, images and sounds seared through his brain but he couldn't comprehend them; he could only feel what was there; the cold, hard handle of the sword and the steel blade, his thoughts were racing but his body was moving faster and he couldn't stop now even if he wanted to and so he tried and tried and tried to block out all thoughts but inside he was hearing screams and laughs and he pulled back with his eyes shut tightly and he didn't think he just moved forward and he _stabbed_.

Blood splatters on the ground.

He... falls.

He falls and for a moment, Japan moves forward—_almost on impulse_—to catch him as he had done so many times before, his father, his brother, his _lover_, but now he'd broken it all and he couldn't stand to see this—this _guilt_—and so he turns and runs away.

For one last time he glances over his shoulder, looking into the eyes of the man he loved, one _final _time, bracing himself for hurt and betrayal, yet all he sees is a calm look and there is a surge of anger—China is mocking him with his last dying breaths, China is extracting the guilt from the depths inside the case he stored it in. China is opening him up even on his deathbed—why—_If I'd seen anger in him, then it would be so easy... To keep everything inside. It would have been war. I could not feel guilty for doing what I had done. Yet this is brother-against-brother, and by being so... calm, he is... he is pulling out my deepest feeling because he knows me, the way any caring older brother would. _

_He knows me._

_He loves me._

_I can't let him do this... I am strong! I've changed, I'm past that—I'm not going to let some silly romance get in the way of this... I'll conquer the world, then what will China do... _The metal blade clatters to the floor and footsteps pound as he sprints out of the house, knocking aside potted plants and wooden chairs. He flees, tears he'd tried to hold back pouring soundly down his face, his heart pounding in his chest. A terrible scream rings through his ears, but there's no one around—he's alone, deserted, on the outskirts of Shanghai yet a loud shriek rips through the air, sound waves vibrating in his throat as his cries out in pain, frustration, anger, guilt, horror, and just how bitter his life has become.

He couldn't stand it—the world spun and whizzed—he collapsed to his knees, unable to bear it any longer, wondering why, why would he ever do such a thing.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth so he tried to spit it out, but he couldn't and his head was _pounding _and all he tasted was the sourness and resentment and the _bitter _taste that he couldn't feel anything else but _Bitter. _

.

**[****_Ichi. Nihon._****] 一・日本 **

He's silent.

The candy has long since melted in his mouth, leaving behind a lingering taste of slight sweetness.

He notes, though, that it has a rather bitter aftertaste that he never quite realized before.

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**Please excuse how bad this is. This is the first time I've ever tried writing fluff. And note that #3 is my first time writing humor that is not crack. At least, it's my lame trial. I'm so sorry.**

**If you can, I'd really like some feedback on the bad parts. I always appreciate con-crit. **

**Thanks for reading! I hope to get the next chapter up soon.**

**—Mikako-chan**


	2. 二・中国

**MEIN GOTT.**

**[1] This took me so much longer than I thought. Really, I expected to breeze through this. After a few months of working on it I finally got it done, but it's still really bad. I haven't had time to edit it, because I don't want to keep you guys waiting any longer than I have to. **

**[2] I took his from my history notebook. We are learning about China's history. AKA the China-Japan war. Sad things happened. A lot of people died. But at least I can write angsty fics now...**

**[3] There is not that much fluff in this chapter... Or the next. But there will be some in the fourth chapter.**

**[4] I really hope that I can get the next chapter up quicker, because I find it easier to write in Japan's POV. Even though it's also easier to write angst. But the next chapter ****_will _****be angst.**

**[5] Headcanon: Im Yong Soo represents both North and South Korea. **

**Well, then, enjoy! Please leave a review if you enjoyed it, or even if you haven't, leave a comment!**

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**[****_Èr. Zhōng-guó_****] 二・中国**

**Bitter — China**

The window is dusty, China notes.

These days, he doesn't do much. He just kind of sits here in the corner of his living room, staring through a pane of glass. Sometimes he wonders if the barrier can block the horror. And sometimes he thinks that being able to see through the glass would give him a better knowledge of the world beyond. So he considers wiping it, but he doesn't.

In all honesty, he doesn't really do anything anymore.

Maybe he should clean the window. It's very dusty. Like the photo album he'd found cleaning out his attic the other day. He hadn't looked through it, though. It would have been too painful.

He's better now.

But he still hasn't dusted the window.

With a sigh at the mere idea of doing the chore, he heaves his body to a standing position and goes to find a towel.

His thoughts drift slowly to memories of past days.

He shakes himself. He has been living in the past. Not focusing on the present.

His soul was fading away from this life.

He knows that if he keeps living in the past, he'll become nothing more but a ghost. Then who will take care of the house? Who will wipe the windows when they get dusty?

Certainly not Korea.

Who doesn't live here anymore, by the way. He came to visit only sometimes, and China has been to the other's house only once. Just as he had expected, it was a mess. He'd felt an urge to clean after him like he used to, but he stopped himself — after all, he couldn't keep on dreaming into the past.

Times were changing. He had to keep up with them.

Taiwan barely visited, too. He heard that she stayed at Japan's place, but he didn't have the heart to find out.

Anyway, he never went to Japan's place.

He didn't even know what it looked like. He'd gotten pictures that Taiwan would sometimes send, of her and Japan in front of Mount Fuji, or something like that. China always deleted them. He didn't look at them. He didn't _care_.

He didn't care about anything like this anymore. It didn't matter.

Nothing really mattered, was his new philosophy. Sometimes, you can think that something is important. You can hold on to it. In the end, though, it'll be ripped away.

So he doesn't think about anything. He'll get caught up again, thinking that it'll be meaningful in his life. And then it'll get taken back, and he'll be torn apart.

That's why he says, nothing matters.

After all, nothing really does.

The window was clearer now. Sunlight beamed through the glass.

"Since I already started, I might as well clean the rest of the house, aru," he says to himself.

He then goes on to mop the floor.

He has only just started when there is a knock on the door. He looks up, and stops.

_Nothing really matters._

"Go away," he tells the visitor.

There is a loud sob. "Aniki, don't you love me anymore?"

Korea.

"No, I don't," China snapped. "Now go away."

"Hey, I know you do! Plus, everything originated in me." There was a pause. "Da-ze!" Korea added as an afterthought.

China opened the door. "One. I already said, I don't love you. Two. What are you doing here?"

"Aniki, you're scaring me."

China looked up. "What do you mean?"

"You're glaring at me like I killed someone! Da-ze!"

"Korea, if you're not going to tell me why you're here, I'll kick you out."

"Well... Japan was over with HK and he brought these boxes of chocolate, and I don't have room for them, so here you go!" Korea dumped the boxes haphazardly on the table.

"I don't want them..."

"Too bad!" Korea flounced out. China slammed the door.

The boxes were small, dark brown in color, with decorative patterns carved into their sides. There were barren tree branches, stems of flowers ready to take flight. He curled his fingers around the edges.

The lid slipped off easily, connected to the rest of the container by a tiny silver hinge. The inside of it was painted dark blue.

Inside the box there were chocolates, slender flat frames wrapped in slits of golden paper. The colors shone like being released for the first time.

He looked around, like a child about to eat a candy his mother specifically told him not to. When confirmed that Korea was _not _hiding behind that potted plant, his fingers greedily reached for the treat and tore apart the wrapper.

It was bitter, was his first thought. Very bitter. Yet... bitter in a way that made him not want to spit it out.

_Bitter_

_adj. _**1 **_having a sharp, pungent taste or smell; not sweet_

**2 **_painful or unpleasant to accept or contemplate_

Bitter, yet the gush of flavor is too much to control. The memories flow back, each and every one of them, scenes slipping forward, flying past, drifting away. Finally, a view comes into focus.

**《二・中国》****One. ****_Bitter._**

Another terrible pain shook him. He leaned forward, coughing. _Almost expecting someone to be there._

Of course, there wasn't. Facing the bare white walls, alone, for the first time. Fear sets in.

All the feelings mix, anger, terror, pain, hurt, betrayal, a pot of ingredients that he adds to one by one, flames flickering up and curling around the edges. A smoldering pile of charred remains, everything no longer recognizable.

**《二・中国》****Two. ****_Bitter._**

"J—Japan..."

"I'm sorry, China-san." The words were so fake.

"You can't!" he cried. "You can't! Please!"

"You don't understand—"

"You bastard! _You bastard_!" he screamed, tears streaming down his face.

"China-san!"

"Please, you—why—you—!"

"China!"

"You _bastard_!"

"I—"

"I hate you, aru! I _hate_ you! I hate you _so_ much, aru! You—I mean..." his voice began to crack. "Why would you do this? I hate you so much!"

Japan didn't move. He didn't even flinch. China's hands tightened into trembling fists. Japan was fueling the fire. "How dare you?" he yelled.

He broke.

"Japan... Please, just let me see them one more time..."

There was a cold stare. "Why would I?"

He trembled. The pain grew enormously, yet fell, like a flame that flares up then dies...

The tears had stopped. Everything had flowed out of him. There was nothing left. He stood up abruptly. He looked into the other's dark eyes.

"You know something, Japan," he began slowly. He paused. "You can take many things away from me. In the end, though, I will get them back..." He stopped.

He took a deep breath, looking up again. "You underestimate my power."

**《二・中国》****Three. ****_Bitter._**

Blood.

It was everywhere. Splotches of redness dotted the earthy dirt, crimson liquid seeping into the soil. It seemed as if the blood spewed from the ground itself.

He didn't want to do this, to be trapped, in this hell on earth, blindly blinking through tears, trekking through rain, sloshing through mud. Weapon gripped in one hand, not for offense, but only to defend himself.

Shoes sank into muddy ground. Hands clenching into fists, fighting, grabbing, seeking for anything. A mind not caring for anyone else, a mind on fire, a mind needing only its own tranquility and nothing else, a mind desperately trying to find the last bit of sanity, to retrieve the final bit of life, love, memories, _anything_, heart pounding, soul screaming, raging, ringing in his ears, sun setting, light vanishing, darkness advancing.

Flashing, clashes of color, clanging and crashing, feet shuffling, hands reaching, snatching, grabbing selfishly. Kicks and cries. Screams whooshing over like a cool breeze, bullets like walls of water. Trapped, eyes darting left and right, frenzied heart beating in his chest. Sprinting forward, being knocked back, anger rising and falling, chest clenching, fury taking over, desperate thoughts for revenge, visions of pain, his pain, the pain that had been inflicted on him, others' pain, and the idea of a sword, moving slowly forward, piercing skin...

Gashes appeared on once perfect milky flesh as war raged on, terror streaking through, like diving into a fiery rage of monsters, each one raising their claws, baring their fangs. A scream, inhumane, rips through the air, blades digging into flesh, eyes widening. Horror, pain, searing through, a mind unable to comprehend anything. Red, black, everything swirling. Rain pouring down like the sky had opened up, like he'd finally been able to unleash his tears, his fury. Death. Muffled cries, miles away, yells. Goodbyes, fired bullets. Everything being swallowed up by blackness.

**《二・中国》****Four. ****_Bitter._**

Chaos.

It was the only word to describe the scene. People running in all directions, a frenzied mass of hair and shoes, tripping over each other, running into one another, fighting. Cries rising into the air, screams going above it.

His feet stamped loudly on concrete, hands folded behind him.

He didn't want to look into those cold, terrifying eyes.

**《二・中国》****Five. ****_Sweet._**

Japan called him that night.

He almost didn't want to answer. He stared at the phone for ages, ringing off the hook.

When it stopped, it started again after a while.

Then stopped.

When Japan called for the third time, he finally found enough strength in his arms to get up and answer it.

"Did you want something?"

Silence.

"No, Chuugoku-san. Sorry for bothering you."

_Sorry_. It seemed so nonchalant, so unimportant. Yet those words, those feelings... for once, he realized, it could be healed.

It could be fine. He can forgive, forget, move on.

"It's alright."

Because it was. Everything. It was always alright. Even as bullets pierced the air and blood gushes from the wounds, it would be alright.

It was those words, those apologies, that allowed him to live and love again.

**[****_Èr. Zhōng-guó_****] 二・中国**

He stood up abruptly, tears dotting his eyes.

"Aiyah, aru! I've spent too much time reminiscing." Quickly, he wiped them away with his sleeve.

Because for once, it did matter. For once, he realized, something was flowing out of him again. Years of sobbing had left him empty, but now it was coming back.

For once, he was no longer an empty shell.

For once, it mattered.

For once, it was no longer just terror.

For once, the bitter chocolate has finally left him its sweet aftertaste.

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**I'm sorry for the terrible quality. I tried, I really did. I'll go back and edit it later if I have time. **

**Thanks for reading! ALL reviews are appreciated, because I am in dire need of some constructive criticism.**

**Thank you :)**

**EDIT: Went back and changed some stuff. There was a lot of really bad word choice in this. Sorry; when I first wrote it, I was kind of careless.**

**—Mikako-chan**


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